Infamy: A Zombie Novel (7 page)

Ella laughs.

“Oh you like that?” I say.

She continues to crack up as I do the same thing to some
chuko undead in a bloody wifebeater.

This fog is full of gore.

We run between cars on a street littered with wreckage, putting some distance between us and the horde. Soon we slow to a walk.

“
We need to get off the streets,” I say.

“
Lead the way, cabron.”

As
he motions with his gun, a car door flies open. A corpse about the size of a middle linebacker leaps onto Caesar.

Caesar
drops his gun as they tumble to the ground. He pushes at the biting zombie’s face. “You motherfucker,” he says, kicking and kneeing at its huge frame, trying to grab at his gun.

This is where the moral
debate begins in my head. Should I save him? Sure has threatened me enough times. Saved my ass too. But do I owe the pecker this courtesy?

“Help me,
” he says.

Ella is laughing her ass off.

“Goddam it, help me,” Caesar says.

The zombie really is about to
chew his way through Caesar’s face.

I kick the slimy fucker in the
eye socket as hard as I can.

It loses grip on Caesar.

Caesar scrambles to his feet and grabs his boomstick. The long barrel of his gun slams down on the head of the corpse, pinning it to the ground.

“Suck
on this, zombie-cabra,” he says, shooting a giant hole in the zombie. Blood and brain matter cover Caesar’s tan suit pants.

“That son of a bitch,” he says.

I’m at the glass door of a minimart. “Caesar over here,” I yell.

Of course the door is locked
even though it says ‘Open 24 Hours’ (You get the irony). Fucking apocalypse.

Caesar pushes me out of the way
, lifts his shotgun and shatters the door with a single blast.

Soon as I’m inside I shove a
soda machine in front of the entry. When I’m done I see the shotgun is pointed at my chest. I don’t have time to level a gun at him.

“You pointing that at Ella or me?”

“Maybe the both of you.”

“You were a kid once. Quit being a hater.”

“I am sick of that kid crying one minute and laughing the next.”

“
Something wrong with a sense of humor?”

“She nearly got us killed.”

“So now you’re a baby killer? Real smart. Just obliterate our future why don’t you?”

             
“Why do you care so much for this child? She’s not even yours.”

“I have my reasons. You
have no say over her life. She’s coming with us, or you’re on your own.”

Is this guy a heartless asshole or what? And I thought I was bitter after losing Kathy.

Caesar takes a breath before pointing the gun at the ceiling. “I’ve wasted enough ammo out on the street. You’re not worth another shell.”

He walks over to the counter and places his shotgun and b
ag on top of it. “I need a drink,” he says.

I
take a seat on the floor with Ella. She’s quiet again. I know she’ll be hungry soon.

Where we
go from here is anyone’s guess.

Chapter 7

Undead Nightmare

As Caesar munches on tasty a microwave burrito, I wrap a diaper into an inedible stuffed dish from a pile of shit that squirted out Ella’s ass. Nom nom.

I’m a terrible father figure. I know this.

The soda machine, shelving combo has worked out remarkably well as a barrier, holding out a herd of undead, who smash their decomposing faces against the glass and our makeshift wall as if even poopy-ass Ella is a rock star.

“You’re the next Lady Gaga,” I say.

Caesar walks up as I toss the diaper and grab a day-old donut from one of the food boxes. I can’t tell if he wants to kill us or is jealous I’ve just taught Ella how to do a high five.

“About how f
ar do you think we are from El Cortez?” he asks.

“
Not too sure. It’s pretty foggy out there still. If we’re lucky then we might get close enough to reach it today.”

“
We’ll depart as soon as the fog lifts. Make sure that baby is no longer a nuisance.”

Like I can control her laughing or shitting.
“You just keep your pistol in your pants.”

Caesar’s
eyes narrow.

Oh fuck.

A huge smile stretches across his face.

This is fucking it.

He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “This is what I like about you, cabron. Nothing holds you back. Just get us the fuck out of here soon.”

             
Caesar walks over to the restroom as I bring another stale donut to the register counter. I put Ella in an empty box by a display of Monster energy drinks. Somehow the word MONSTER seems fitting. This kid would be nuts with a gun.

While scanning the room I notice a laptop on one of the shelves.
It comes to mind that the Internet could still be working. What would the web have to say about sunny San Diego? Could there even be WiFi in this shithole of a store?

The comp
uter boots and doesn’t ask for a password (thank God) and instantly goes to the desktop. Amazingly I’m able to access the Internet and get everything from
YouTube
to
Yahoo!
.

On every news site is some expe
rt talking head, a zombie analyst who has watched a movie, been an undead extra or wrote a graphic novel about a zombie apocalypse. None of them have any concrete answers, just conflicting theories. Zombies can think. Zombies can’t think. Zombies can be cured. Zombies can’t be cured. Zombies can be turned into slaves. Zombies will decay in the rain. They will run out of food. They will turn vegetarian and live forever. They can love. They can hate. San Diego will be rescued. It won’t be rescued. It will be
Escape From San Diego
, a take-off from the old cheesy movie franchise. We need to be nuked. We need to be cleansed. An antidote can be made from frog cells, from chicken cells, from dog cells, from survivor cells, from orchids, cheeseburgers, clouds, from zombie cells . . . It’s all bullshit because none of these jackasses have even been around the real thing like I have. Where are the survivors? Where are the military experts? The scientists? Don’t tell me that America is making money off this suck-ass infestation of undead? This is really pissing me off.

Then I turn to social media.

Tweets are blowing up with people begging for help, whether they’re in the thick of it all or not. Others beg for donations. It’s a wasteland of virtual cardboard signs on every corner. I decide to tweet too.
I have a baby now. Found her outside Starbucks. #FTW
.

Then videos start popping up, but due to their graphic content (this is what
YouTube
says) they’re taken down. Is the apocalypse being suppressed? What are viewers missing? Videos of people dying in a million different ways is all: infection, guns, knives, bombs . . .

After getting my
digital fill of monkey piss I google El Cortez. Old hotel turned into condos. Great, more condos. Turns out to be some relic of ancient San Diego (1950s). Why does Caesar want to get there so bad? All I can think is this is a horror film, and the El Cortez is a perfect backdrop.

“We need supplies,” I tell Caesar. “Got anything cool in your bag?”

“Guns and ammo, cabron.”

“We need first-
aid kits, food, water and flashlights. Light won’t last around here much longer. I predict the grid will die today.”

I grab
diapers and pre-made formula refills. Caesar grabs the rest.

We load the
bags and guns.

“It’s go time,” Caesar says.

“El Cortez or bust.”

              I strap Ella to my chest and we’re ready.

We’re at the back door
of the convenience store. Can’t see any fog. Caesar has a cigarette in his mouth. His shotgun is in one hand and machete in the other.

I’m chomping on minty gum.
Though my manhood feels a little limp, I like to think I look like Brad Pitt in a tabloid image, lugging one of his kids around.

Then again
, never mind.

Caesar kicks open the door
and jams his machete through the neck of the nearest infected loser. He severs the spinal cord and the once-walking corpse folds to the ground. What’s sick is it still tries to bite us.

Where’s a baseball bat when you need one?

Even while wearing his gun bag over his shoulders, Caesar must be in great shape, because his ass can move. I can barely keep up.

Only
two other zombies are in our path: a couple of teenage boys who look like they hadn’t gotten laid before their time was up. Caesar easily chops his way through them.

Sorry dudes. Maybe next life.

Now Caesar takes up the rear as the baby and I take the lead. She’s asleep, which is fine with me since her oh-my-god-that-was-a-cool-zombie-kill laugh creeps me the fuck out.

It’s eerie walking down a street
where there are no living souls. Downtown San Diego on a day like this is usually flooded with cars and pedestrians. All I see is burned-out cars and body parts. Smells like the fucking end of the world, that’s for sure. Did I mention I have a bandana around my face and it doesn’t kill this smell? I feel fucking sick.

As we continue
I can see two Hummers in the shadows of two large office buildings. Must be the two assholes I spotted the other day. When we get to them we find bodies and bullet casings. Why the hell didn’t these dudes seek cover in one of the buildings?

Their remains are smeared in the street.

“Look around for anything useful,” Caesar says. “I’ll check the Hummers. You inspect the bodies.”

I quickly realize this job sucks. Who the fuck cleans battlefields? I don’t want that shit job. In fact, I’m going on the record right now to say
everything about death sucks. I want to die in my sleep, or while having a massive orgasm. Can’t say I’m going to get so lucky. Who does? I’m more likely to piss and shit myself in the process, especially if it’s out here with the fucking teethers of the apocalypse.

The a
ir is so thick with rank death, I swear I can bite chunks from it. I can’t find anything anyway. No usable weapons. Everything has been picked over.

J
ust my luck, I spot the butt end of an assault rifle under the body of a soldier stuck beneath the remains of a poor bastard whose head is half gone. I drag him by the shoe off the soldier.

When
I reach for the rifle I nearly shit myself as the soldier grabs me with three fingers (two are missing).

“Wait
,” he says, gurgling blood.

Oh shit
, a fucking ZID. I take a moment to calm myself from him almost tearing off my arm.

“
I saw you walking up,” he says. “The man with you, his name is Caesar Valdez.”

“Yeah
, drug lord, I know all this.”

“
Our unit was sent in to apprehend him. We were forced to fight off survivors trying to overrun the Hummers. The infected came. The dead chased the remainder of the survivors north.”

The soldier grunts. He isn’t going to last much longer.

“Valdez is connected to the outbreak.”

Holy fucking shit. Jackpot. Level 7.

“I got a baby on my back and every undead dick trying to eat me inside-out,” I say. “I’m no hero.”

“T
ake my com with you. It’s on my side. Radio in. Tell them you have Lobo. They’ll help you. They’ll get you out of here . . .”

Now this guy is tell
ing me something I want to hear. I grab his radio and shove it in my pocket. Then something happens in his eyes. They turn red and he gets a grimace like he’s trying to fight the Devil from the inside. Fucker is starting to turn.

I pick up the gun. It’s an
M-16. “Oh what’s this,” I say, noticing two grenades on the ground too. The little boy inside me who wants to blow shit up takes over. I pick them up and shove one in my pocket. The other I stare at. This is a power I’ve never felt before. I could even rule the world.

Fuck if I didn’t just forget about the soldier turning.

He grabs my arm.

A noise
exits my mouth as if some little girl is living in my stomach.

For having on
ly three fingers left, the zombie-soldier’s grip feels like a pit bull. I scream and try to pull away.

Ella decides to join
the fun by crying and throwing a fit.

I’m so freaked out I
piss myself (just a little, not full-on) and pull the grenade pin (dumb ass move of the apocalypse).

This is my dilemma:

1) I’m being grabbed by a zombie.

2) I’m
clutching a live grenade.

3) I have
a baby on my back (who is manic and flips from crying to laughing).

4) I’m shaking so ba
d the grenade drops from my hand into the corpse’s mouth.

5)
What the fuck do I do?

All of a sudden I’m
in video game that has been stored in my cerebral cortex or some shit like that. With my right foot I kick into the zombie soldier’s elbow, snapping it in two. He loses grip. My other foot stomps the grenade deep into the zombie’s throat. I bust all his teeth. Doesn’t matter. I run toward the closest Hummer, where Caesar, with a puzzled expression, is climbing out to see why I’m bitching. He jumps with me and insanely-laughing Ella to the other side of the Hummer just as the grenade explodes.

Body parts and concrete fall
as unspent bullets detonate into walls and windows. The shock from the blast rocks the Hummer in our direction.

Caesar looks at me as he jams a finger in his ear to try and dig the ringing out of it
. “What just happened?” he says.

I examine Ella and explain (well not everything) about the soldier zombie.

Caesar blankly accepts my explanation.

We both get to our feet and gather our thing
s. I’m not sure how it happened, but the diaper bag is still intact, shielded somehow by the exploding soldier. I’m just glad it’s still here and wipe off some of the goo splattered on it.

I slip the other grenade inside
, hiding it from Caesar, and put the bag over my shoulder. Other bodies, with various parts blown off, have started to re-animate. A head attached to half of a torso pulls itself out of a small crater. One zombie is missing a face. No eyes, nose or mouth, just a hollow cavity. Even its ears are gone.

We make it north about four blocks when something
occurs to me. The zombie-soldier mentioned a large group of undead traveling in this same direction. What if they heard the explosion and are now doubling back? This is one time I wish I was wrong. But then about a block ahead of us I spot hundreds of the infected coming our way.

Caesar opens a car door
, chucks his bag in, then ducks inside.

When Ella and I run up he has
already locked it.

“You fucking asshole,
” I whisper.

T
here isn’t a whole lot of options left. I go over to a tanker truck and climb to the top using a side ladder. I lay flat and cradle the baby. “You better be quiet or we’re toast,” I say.

Ella
snorts and pulls on my ear. Hurts like a motherfucker.

Zombies
slowly pass.

I’m peeking over the top when I notice Caesar isn’
t alone in his car. He struggles with someone in the back seat.

Zombies near the car aren’t paying
much attention. Would you? After a few grueling minutes of sheer terror, the horde has finely passed. We head back down to street level and run over to help Caesar who seems like he has stopped fighting. The door is now unlocked. Inside is Jessica.

“
I thought you died,” I say.